


Expendable

by Nefhiriel



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Bruises, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-20
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefhiriel/pseuds/Nefhiriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Neal need to be reminded of what's expected of him--and what's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expendable

“You're mad.”

“Yeah, Neal. I'm _mad._ ”

“I didn't do anything wrong.”

The worst of it was, Peter realized Neal was right. Technically. When Agent Myers had ordered Neal out of the surveillance van to distract the three-hundred-pound thug from entering the building (which might have dangerously interrupted Peter's one-on-one with the perp, inside), Neal had done as he was told. Which had almost resulted in Neal getting pounded into the pavement.

It turned out, there were a few people in the world completely impervious to the Caffrey charm.

The pretty, petite EMT applying a butterfly bandage to the cut on Neal's forehead was not one of them. She gave Neal a pat on the shoulder, and told him to “take it easy”—darting a meaningful look in Peter's direction as she said it. Clearly, she thought Peter was preparing to chew him out.

The verdict was still out on that one.

Neal held the ice-pack she'd given him to his jaw, and sat on the curb wearing a sulky expression. His clothes were hopelessly rumpled, and for some reason that—even more than the blossoming bruises on the left side of his face—made Neal look victimized.

“What were you _thinking_?”

“Well,” Neal began, thoughtfully, “I was going to try complimenting him on his taste in shoes next. But then I _saw_ them. There are some lies even a con man can't swallow. At least if he has any taste.” He frowned up at him. “Peter? You know Elizabeth doesn't like it when you grind your teeth.”

“The guy was twice your size, Neal.”

“He wasn't armed.”

“ _Easily_ twice your size. And you didn't know he was unarmed until _after_ you went up to talk to him.”

Neal sighed. “Agent Myers—”

“—Had no right to order you to put yourself at risk like that.”

“Neal Caffrey: property of the bureau.” Neal set the ice-pack down on the curb, gingerly fingering his jaw, and raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Tool in your belt, remember? Guess Myers got the memo.”

Hearing Neal lament Agent Rice's handler skills—or lack thereof—had been cause for a good chuckle at the time. Maybe it had felt gratifying to realize that Neal was beginning to appreciate what he had with Peter, who treated him like a partner instead of just a walking resource that wasn't supposed to talk out of turn.

Neal looked like he was expecting Peter to have another chuckle, now. Because, yeah, in some ways Rice's description fit. Sometimes Neal needed the reminder: he hadn't been released from prison to lie around doing nothing but sip lemonade—or Italian Roast coffee, for that matter. He had a job to do, and his parole depended on it.

But neither had Neal been released from prison to be _used,_ not like this, and not as if his life was a spare they could keep on hand to use to save the more valuable one of an agent. But apparently Neal hadn't gotten the memo.

“You're not expendable.”

Neal looked surprised at the fierceness of the statement. “'Course not.” He flashed an easy smile.

“You're _not_ expendable.”

“You just said that, Peter,” Neal pointed out kindly.

“I'm still waiting for you to get it.”

Neal looked down at his lap, lifting his shoulders and letting them drop casually. “I wasn't doing it because Myers told me to. The order was just the excuse I was waiting for.”

Peter ground his teeth. “Excuse?”

Neal looked at Peter out of the top of his eyes. “You're not entirely expendable, either, you know. If you'd gotten killed in there they'd probably have stuck me with someone like Rice.”

Peter stopped grinding his teeth. “Not _entirely_ expendable, huh?”

Neal looked pleased with himself, and rebelliously unrepentant of his actions—but also bruised, and dirty, and in need of some El-style mothering. All of which, of course, meant that the anger required to properly chew him out was becoming increasingly impossible to hold on to. The anger had never really been aimed at Neal, anyway.

Peter scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Just... try avoiding the heroic one-man-shows in the future, okay?”

“Heroic?” Neal parroted brightly.

“That wasn't a compliment, you reckless idiot. Stay here—take it easy until I come back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To have a talk with Agent Myer.”


End file.
